


No Passing Zone

by Sandywolf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandywolf/pseuds/Sandywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're supposed to be teaching Dave to drive, you both know this. He's quite possibly the worst driver you've ever had the displeasure of sharing a vehicle with, and this surely isn't helping anything, but it's worth the swerving and the danger just for the muffled noises issuing from his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Passing Zone

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme.

You're not too sure why you do it. And it's more than likely that Dave doesn't either. But you're bored, and the road is perfectly flat, and the opportunity is too good to pass up.

You're supposed to be teaching Dave to drive, you both know this. He's quite possibly the worst driver you've ever had the displeasure of sharing a vehicle with, and this surely isn't helping anything, but it's worth the swerving and the danger just for the muffled noises issuing from his lips.

Your hand grips his thigh, stroking, rubbing, moving inward every so often. Dave bites his tongue, but he doesn't move his eyes from the road. Too new and too cautious to risk something like that. Your eyes are on the road as well, watching the way the yellow line disappears, reappears, fluttering out of view as Dave's hands shake.

You move inward and an oncoming car honks angrily when Dave swerves just a little too close.

“Bro.” He says, and you spare him a glance. “Stop.”

You don't. In fact, you only take it farther, fingers trailing over Dave's zipper, and you feel him tense under your touch. You back off a bit, almost imperceptible, feeling the texture of metal and cloth under your fingertips.  
Another car passes. Dave does his best not to hit them head on.

“What do you do when an ambulance comes up behind you?”

Dave is obviously confused at your sudden questioning, a little too light-headed to form a proper response, “The fuck are you talking about?”

You flick open the button of his pants, and his breath hitches just a bit.

“What do you do if you start hydroplaning?”

“Shit, I don't know. Slam the brakes?”

Your fingers grasp his zipper, motions agonizingly slow as you draw it down. You can barely hear your own voice, leaning over the console to whisper in Dave's ear.

“When moving to another lane, you should always...?”

He pauses, and you take the time to wonder if he's answering these wrong on purpose, just to spur you on. Swallowing, his fingers – all ten of them, because he hasn't mastered one handed driving yet - twitch on the wheel, “Goddamit, Bro.”

“Not exactly the answer I'm looking for here.”

Dave shudders as you move the folds of his pants aside, ghosting over dark red boxers. The road is empty, and Dave's finally found the center of the lane despite the shake in his shoulders.

“When you want to turn left -”

“Please, Bro -”

“At an intersection -”

“Just... just... -”

“When parking uphill against the curb -”

“Shit, just touch me already!”

The car sweeps dangerously towards the edge of the road, the cabin filling with a groan as you finally grasp Dave through his underwear. His back is tight and his bottom lip is stuck firmly between his teeth, but he refuses to look at you, still too scared to believe that you're really making this happen.

But as you slip your fingers through the opening of his boxers, one of his hands descends from the wheel, looking to push you away. The car immediately starts to lose control, and you firmly set his palm back on the wheel, “None of that, dumbass. Eyes on the road.”

“You're going to get us killed.” Dave replies, but it's nothing more than a strangled whisper because you're pushing his clothes down and letting him free. His thighs are surprisingly soft, but you don't linger, fascinated by the way his breath hastens for you. You take him in your hand, simply feeling, fingers running smooth up and down his shaft. He's not small anymore, but he's nowhere near your size, and you congratulate yourself a bit before rubbing a thumb over the head.

The car jolts, but you were expecting it, and it doesn't matter much anyway because the road is empty and there's countryside all around you.

Dave groans a little, wondering why you've stopped, and you stroke him a few times – one, two three – touching lightly, nothing but a tease, and he arches up into your touch.

Twisting sideways in your seat, you set a rhythmic motion, counting the times in your head to the beat of your heart, tantalizingly slow. If you were to match Dave's pulse, and you do for just a second if only to see how he'll react, it would all be over much too quickly.

“Do you trust me?” You whisper, stretching over the console to suck his earlobe between your teeth, but all he can do is mumble incoherently.

Your seatbelt is long gone. You're not even sure when you took it off, but there's nothing holding you back, and you slide back into your seat so you can decide just how you're going to go about this. There's no comfortable way, that you know, but it's okay, because this is for Dave, not you.

You'll have your fun later.

But for now you settle on discomfort, removing your hand to drag yourself up a little bit, and you angle your tall, lean form awkwardly over the center console and the gear stick.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dave demands of you, hands loosening on the steering wheel.

But he doesn't let go.

You know he never will.

You lick a long trail of saliva over his thigh, biting down on it, and he quietens instantly. It's too easy to drag this out, and to taunt him until the next town comes into sight. To leave him hanging on the edge of arousal, face set, completely innocent.

Dave whispers something quietly, raising just a bit, and you decide to leave that for another time.

You take him into your mouth, laving the ridge on the underside of his head. Dave sucks in a breath and holds it for an immeasurable amount of time, trying not to pant too hard, because fogging up the car in the middle of summer is a dead giveaway. A car flashes by, paying them no mind, but Dave tenses nonetheless, moaning quietly when you simply lick that tension away, sucking tenderly. One hand clutches his shoulder, the other finding purchase on the console cutting into your stomach. Dave's hand are stuck on the wheel, no matter how desperately he wants to fling your hat off and dig his hands into your hair.

Your head bobs a bit, a hum and a growl growing in your throat, and Dave mangles your name as he tries his best not to run the car off the side of the road. You're proud, because concentrating isn't the easiest thing to do in situations like these, and reward him with a groan that sends sparks running down his toes.

“Shit man.” He says, reclining back into his seat, and you notice that the car is slowly accelerating. You cup his balls in your hand and massage them ever so slightly, and that stops immediately.

“Watch yourself, Kid.” You warn him, but he rolls his hip, smearing pre-cum across your cheek, and that's more than enough to prompt you back into action.

Licking away a pearl of the stuff, you run your tongue down the underside, then work your way back up, sucking small circles as you go. Dave writhes beneath you, hands tensing on the wheel. You rub his shoulder, working the tension away, and he pants.

“Bro, fuck, there's a truck coming.”

“Why should I give a shit?” You ask him, because the danger just makes it more fun, and the thought of someone seeing makes you harden uncomfortably.  
“They'll see.” He says, knowing it's the most obvious thing, but maybe he's okay with it too, because he doesn't try to squirm away. Just focuses on his breathing, trying to school his expression back into play, trying to, at least, act somewhat normal.

You can hear the engine approaching, how they're gunning it in hopes of passing your tiny car, and you take Dave in your hand so you can raise your head just a bit higher. Taking just the head of Dave's cock into your mouth, you tease the slit with your tongue, running over it in quick, fervent motions. The poker face Dave worked so hard to construct starts to falter, his mouth opening ever so slightly so he can get some extra air into his heaving lungs.

The truck passes, and Dave turns his head the other way, still watching the road, but doing anything he can to keep his identity a secret.

But you do no such thing.

You want them to see.

The truck passes your window and the head of Dave's dick slips from your lips as you meet the trucker's horrified expression.

You smirk, and before you know it the truck is out of sight once again.

“I bet that fucker keeps his eyes to himself from now on.”

“Bro, you're... you're fucked up.”

“I don't hear you complaining.”

Blowing warm, wet air to the cooling head of his dick, you notice that Dave doesn't deny a thing.

You know he won't last long after that, his dick straining against your tongue, hips rutting upwards. His breath has been uneven for what seems like ages, and his hands are so tight that the tendons beneath them are prominent and sore.

You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, tongue gliding along the underside, prodding and firm, and the taste of pre-cum is fresh on your tastebuds. Dave's all but collapsing on top of you, little moans and requests falling from his mouth, and you swallow around him, hands touching every bit of skin they can in an effort to set him straight.

There's a shift in tension, and a high-pitched mewl works its way out of Dave's throat. You seal your lips and suck, working back up to the head of his dick, and Dave can no longer take it.

Cum spills across your tongue, and Dave practically collapses back against the seat, breathing harder than he would even after a well-played strife, and you take the wheel with one of your hands to ensure it won't simply roll away from him. You lean back, trying to catch his eyes through his shades, and swallow.

Dave whimpers.

You grin.

Licking him clean, you toy with him just a bit longer, promising nothing, but everything at the same time. He sighs and bravely takes one hand off the wheel just long enough to straighten your hat.

After tucking him back into his pants, you prop yourself back up, straightening in your seat as you pull the seatbelt back on. Your ribs are killing you, and the place where the gear shift was sticking into your side will probably bruise, but Dave is still panting for breath, and that makes it all okay.

Except there's a fairly obvious lump in your jeans, one to which Dave takes notice.

You wave him off.

Good things come to those who wait, and you've got about ten minutes 'til that gravel drive starts popping beneath you.

You don't even have to tell him to speed up.


End file.
